I Swear I'm Not Emo
by legolasgreenleaf15
Summary: "It's all just been sort of confusing, and I guess it's just hard to process all on my own. But to call this a "diary" or "feelings journal" is just stupid." Nico has a lot on his mind but would rather confide in the pages of something inanimate than an actual person. *Rated T for general gloominess, the occasional 'hell,' and because I worry* ON HIATUS
1. Chapter 1

**AN: I need to stop starting projects that I probably don't have time to adequately work on, but I'm also close to finishing up something else, so why not? This isn't a new concept (I've looked), but I figured I'd give it a shot anyway. Updates will probably be once a month just one a random day after I get a chapter done because that seems to work best for me right now. Additionally, none of these chapters are going to be super long because they're all intended to be journal entries. If Nico isn't in character, don't hesitate to kindly let me know!**

 **As a final note, the ellipses you'll see aren't page breaks. My intent with them is to show awkward pauses in this writing when he quickly changes subjects. Thank you for reading!**

* * *

I don't really know where to begin. It's just all been sort of confusing, and it's getting hard to process all on my own. But to call this a "diary" or "feelings journal" is just stupid. That's not what this is at all. Maybe it's therapy, even though it physically hurts to call it that. I don't know. All I know is that I'm awkward, introverted, secretly not-exactly straight, and distrustful of others. So I can't exactly communicate my thoughts anywhere.

It's like my feelings keep me from reaching out to people, but that's also perfectly fine with me. Like, I don't want to talk to people. I don't want to touch people. I don't want people. It's not that they don't understand, because someone out there probably does (except for maybe the demigod and son of Hades thing), but a lot of people say they do when they really don't, and that's something I don't want to deal with.

But I also can't deal with this alone.

So I rant to myself okay.

I swear I'm not emo. Stereotypically, I probably fit the bill, but stereotypes are too binding. I just need to express all of the hurt in my head and I can't trust a person to be there for me.

Honestly, I don't really know what's bothering me in the first place. Is it being the literal son of death? Is it who I find attractive? Is it being awkward? Is it my running from the past? Is it puberty?

For some reason, puberty is the only option that doesn't scare the hell out of me.

Maybe it's just a bunch of repressed demigod-specific trauma. Maybe speculating is making me feel worse.

Now I don't want to talk about anything anymore.

It's like that moment right before you rip off a bandaid. You know it'll feel better after it's off, but you can't bring yourself to do it because it'll hurt in the process. But talking about traumatic events hurts a little more than ripping off a dumb bandaid, so I guess I could keep suffering in silence. I mean, that route has gotten me this far.

...

Well, the Argo II hasn't crashed in the time that I've been aboard, which hasn't been for very long, but with Valdez at the helm, it's a miracle we aren't all dead. The others don't really talk to me much, but that's pretty understandable. I avoid half of them most of the time, and the other half stay away naturally. Unsurprisingly, I have no problems with this sort of arrangement and sincerely hope that it continues as we press on into the future.

...

Am I lonely? Could that be part of what's wrong with me?

Ugh, I'm tired of introspection. I did too much of that in hell.

...

Well, Hazel talks to me, but I guess that's okay because we have the same dad (sort of — her dad is the Roman form of my dad, but that's just deities for you, I guess). And I generally make an exception for Hazel because I dragged her out of hell, but not because she wanted it. She got pulled out because I wanted a sister again.

There's probably a lot that I could unpack there, but I'm still not really feeling like it.

Why don't I open up to Hazel, you ask? Simple. It's because I hate pity, and if I know anything about Hazel, it's that she'd pity me right away. Pity is too sappy and would likely require sharing more feelings to dispel that pity.

Take Piper for example. Piper, unfortunately, isn't one of the ones who stays away naturally. She's actually one of the people I have to avoid the most because she really goes out of her way to talk to me. I don't really get why, but then again, she was the one who saved me in the first place. Saving me probably appealed to her maternal instincts or something, but I'd have thought that by now she would have picked up on the fact that I have no interest in speaking with or hugging her. I don't know why she bothers.

Contact tends to give me anxiety but nooo she has to mother me because I'm dark and mysterious and she saved me and I was dying.

In the grand scheme of things, we're all dying. Hell never stops reminding me that.

...

This all has been largely unhelpful. Maybe I'm just being pessimistic, but who said that I wanted to heal? I just want to get things off my chest.

Now that I'm feeling worse than I did before, I'm going to stop myself here. Who knows if I'll pick this back up again.

-Nico


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: This is only being posted because I feel like it makes more sense if posted with the first one. I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Armed with the knowledge that the last entry didn't help whatsoever, here's to hoping that this one goes a little bit better.

Cheers.

That was supposed to be sarcastic, but sarcasm is a little hard to convey on paper.

Why do I even bother? Because of the obvious internal conflict raging in my head that I want to simultaneously address and leave the hell alone. That's why I come back crawling like some injured puppy.

That's also more sarcasm, but a whole lot drier.

In all honesty, why can't I get myself on board with myself? Perhaps I'm secretly fragile, and by giving off the influence that I'm tough and stoic, I'm protecting myself. Or maybe I'm just heartless.

I do know one thing, though, and that concerns the types of people I find attractive. I love how that's the one certainty I have with this stupid journal, yet I don't know what to do with that. I can't talk to anyone about it because of judgments and rejections (even though I know Piper would be supportive as the love goddess's daughter).

You know, I thought this would be easier to talk about with a pen and a page, but now that I'm this close to writing the word, I don't really want to. It doesn't matter that it's the one "known" in my sea of "unknowns." Writing it feels like I'd be wearing a neon sign above my head.

"The only thing we have to fear is fear itself?" I don't know who said it first (one of the Presidents maybe?), but I disagree.

...

I'm not sure if I just had a breakthrough with this whole journaling experience, but I do feel a little bit better. Not like a whole lot better or anything, but if there were weights chained to my ankles, a small one just became unlinked somehow, either because of luck or because the chain was rusty and fragile and just snapped. I'm not even sure which case I'd prefer.

The fogginess in my head has also cleared, but I can tell that the pounding pain of repression is still there. It will probably take some time to address that, though, but right now, I really don't want to think about it.

Maybe I don't ever want to think about it. Maybe some things are better left repressed. Or, maybe I'll snap like the figurative chain, and I won't be able to keep up the "oh everything's fine, I'm not dealing with a lot over here/nah it's just peachy" exterior.

The brilliant lie told through a brilliant smile.

Or, in my case, a brilliant glare paired with a brilliant frown.

For the record, I'm still not going to talk about any of this with anyone else. Seclusion has become a comfortable blanket I wear, and there's also the annoying-as-hell anxiety problem, too. With my luck, it'll get worse. But if this stupid journal, no matter how emo and weird it makes me feel, can finally give me a moment of relief, then I guess it's worth it.

One small breakthrough at a time.

If this is where I write some cliche thing about taking the first step of my new journey, to hell with that. I suffered enough with the "one small breakthrough" bit.

-Nico


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Here's another update! I do have my personal analysis of his dream, but it's open for interpretation. Thanks for reading!**

 **Flaming eyeball: Thank you so much! I really appreciate the support. Don't worry, I will :)**

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Okay, so, it's kind of the middle of the night right now, and after realizing the rather small success of my last entry, I'm just going to give this thing another go. I mean, I also don't know what else to do at the moment. I guess I'm just scared – no, I know I'm scared. Usually, I can at least tell Hazel about my dreams (because demigod dreams are important or whatever), but I don't know about this one. It feels too sensitive, and it's a little hard to explain.

I'm getting ahead of myself.

I've been lying awake for the past thirty minutes, and when I first woke up, there were tears in my eyes. And I don't know why. There's also the unexplained feeling of vulnerability lingering that isn't exactly pleasant.

This is all probably because of my dream, but I feel so weird right now that I don't know for sure. It feels like there's something wrong with me. Is it because of the 'son of Hades' thing?

...

Well, here goes.

The only thing I can remember with real clarity is all of the darkness, which doesn't make sense and sounds like it shouldn't be clear at all. I know I was asleep in the dream, but I was also conscious. I don't know how else to describe it. It just wasn't a normal sleeping darkness. There was something in it, but I couldn't see it or feel it or even move at all. It was like I was paralyzed but fixed on something I couldn't see.

Unless I'm just being stupid and it was just sleeping paralysis, this might mean something. It certainly feels that way, but I also don't know if I want to explore what it might be. That thing, which felt like it was staring right at me, owned the darkness, and I was like its prisoner. I can't explain it in any way that feels even remotely rational because I can't put any of my feelings that I have into words right now.

I do know that it scares me and that I don't like how it makes me feel.

Thinking about it kind of hurts my head but gives me this sharp feeling of confusion and fear. I also feel like I didn't belong there, but it went deeper than that. It felt like the darkness really didn't want me there but in an angry sort of way. It wasn't like Tartarus or anything, because that place had a much different feeling than this thing did.

It doesn't make sense, and I feel like I want to puke.

There's no way I'm going back to sleep tonight. Not after that. That's not really a surprise, though, because I can easily start thinking too much and get all worked up.

I'm just exhausted and wearily accepting the fact that I'm going to be more of a zombie tomorrow morning than I already am. I'll be representing the family well.

...

I guess I can always lay down and close my eyes and pretend to sleep. That never does much of anything, but at least I'll feel better by trying. There's nothing like giving something the 'good 'ole college try.'

Too bad I probably won't live long enough to actually give college a try. Not that I particularly want to go to college. I don't really know what I want.

...

What the hell. I saw and thought about that darkness as soon as I closed my eyes. Pretending to sleep isn't even going to work. I don't know what to do anymore. Maybe I'll just lay down and cry a lot. Hopefully, someone will see me in the morning and ask why I look like crap, because we all know that I love it when people ask me about personal things.

For some reason, that sarcastic remark didn't really help.

-Nico


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: I got ahead in my planning schedule, so here's a bonus update! Thanks for reading!**

* * *

I've mentioned Hazel before, right? As I'm flipping back, I can see that, yes, I have. That's a good segue I guess, but I've never been one for smooth transitions.

I'm pretty sure that Hazel and Frank have a thing going on.

Now I know that I've been a little distracted and a little dead lately, but there is definitely something there. And, as she's kind of my younger sister, I have a few problems with it.

For starters, she's thirteen years old. Frank is sixteen. That's too big of a gap, and Frank is much older and more experienced than her. I know that later on down the road, the age difference won't seem as drastic, but in terms of demigods and their ages, Frank is way too old for her, considering he's at the prime age for dying.

He's also got this baby face thing going on. There's no way that he looks sixteen, and while he's a big guy, I don't really see him as that tough. The young face definitely doesn't help him there. I just don't think that he's suitable for her. And it's not because I regard him as _something else_. That's not it at all.

I just don't want her to get hurt.

...

Hazel is amazing. She's sweet, stubborn, and more selfless than I could ever be. When I found her roaming the fields in the Underworld, part of me couldn't just leave her there. Granted, I did pull her out partially for my own selfish intentions, but that's not all of it. Well, I don't really have a clear understanding of what exactly made me stop that day.

Now that she's been alive for a while, I've gotten to know her better than I usually do with other people. Because of that, I can talk to her a little more than I can with anyone else. She does tend to be a little touchy for me, but she knows about my aversion to contact and doesn't push it too much. Sometimes, though, when I don't want to rain on her parade by telling her to knock it off, I'll let her give me a hug. She's just so happy about it, which easily makes her the greatest half-sister a guy could ask for.

I don't want Frank to take her away by dragging her into danger or anything.

I just can't go through that. Not again, anyway.

It was bad enough when that green-eyed monster couldn't save her and didn't protect her like I had asked him to. If he'd protected her better like he said he would, then maybe I wouldn't have become what I am.

...

I keep telling myself that I'm over it because it all happened years ago, but I don't know how easily you can just get over the death of someone you grew up knowing your entire life. Someone who took care of you when you were alone in that stupid casino.

It seemed like I wouldn't need anyone else because she was always there. We made it through those long years frozen in time, and we sort of made it through that stupid military school. At least, until _they_ showed up and thought we needed rescuing.

Then again, we both would probably be dead if we hadn't been rescued. I shouldn't say such things, but I've always wondered if it would have been better for us both to have died that day than for me to live without her.

...

I don't know if I'm projecting guilt upon myself or not, but I have a feeling that Bianca wouldn't have wanted both of us to die that day. If we had, then I wouldn't have met Hazel.

Or the Sun god's son, I guess.

Even with my drastic lateness on the "Hazel and Frank" feelings train, I'll need to get over Frank's presence in her life. Just like I need to accept my sister's death. I want Hazel to be happy just like Bianca would want me to be happy, too. And for a lot of my life, I haven't been. Right now, it's not so bad, but there have definitely been some bad moments.

Happiness is so hard to find, though. It might have something to do with the fact that death is so prominent in my life.

Well, there's a really small ray of sunshine too, which is kind of ironic. But it probably won't last, like most of the things in my life.

Before I ruin this moment for myself, I should probably wrap this up. Better breathe a small sigh of relief before reality comes crashing back in.

-Nico


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: I'll admit, I'm a little worried about characters being a little OOC. If that's the case, please let me know.**

 **Fiction is the Truth: Thank you for your review! :D**

* * *

It's probably a good thing we're in the air right now because there would be an army of skeletons and other undead up here if we weren't. I can still summon them, but it takes so much more effort to get them up here, and I don't know if I want to risk passing out. This rage isn't worth that effort, at least not right now.

Yet if I were to pass out, then I wouldn't have to deal with Valdez's crap anymore. I've just about had it with him. He's much too cheerful, and I'm not saying that because I have something against all things happy. He never takes anything seriously, and it drives me crazy. We could die. All of us could die. Instantly, because that _idiot_ doesn't know what he's doing half the time (if not all the time).

For goodness' sake, he's the one _manning the ship_.

Usually, I can just scowl and glare at him but tolerate whatever stupidity he's displaying, but today was different. He crossed a line, and it wasn't okay.

Valdez was running some general repairs on the ship because we got attacked _again_ , and I was standing around, looking over the railing, calmly introspecting and making the most out of my internal chaos. He then turned to Jason, who was helping him out, and snickered, "Do you think there's something wrong with him?"

I was the only other person on the deck, mind you.

...

Now I don't think I can quite articulate the rage I felt when I heard that. Was he joking? Probably, but that doesn't make it better. Like what was he trying to do? Insinuate something? What were you trying to say there, fire boy?

Oddly enough, that zing didn't quite have the effect that I wanted.

Thankfully, Jason came to my defense and told him off, saying that I wasn't deaf and probably heard the whole thing. All I could do was try not to rip apart the wooden railing I was gripping.

What decent person even asks that!?

If I'm being honest, it doesn't really matter what he was going to refer to. I'm mostly upset that he bothered to say anything about me at all, because based on his tone and inflection, he was probably going to make a joke at my expense.

For some reason, I feel like he was stereotyping me, which really ticks me off. There's just something infuriating about shoving people into boxes when people weren't meant to bend that way. Cramming ourselves into the tight spaces of a social construct does nothing but weaken us.

It's not even about changing oneself to fit into one. It's about the fact that others choose the boxes for us, then shove, twist, and break us into those boxes, especially when we didn't really fit in the first place. It's that perception of yourself through another's eyes, but the one solely based on who they think you are.

To make matters worse, your personal opinion is seldom taken into account, which is another matter in itself. If I don't wake up to please anyone, then why do they think they're entitled to put me in boxes I don't want to be in?

...

I feel like I'm not making much sense anymore.

Maybe Hazel would understand. Or maybe she wouldn't and would have me mediate with Valdez. He's one of the ones I actively avoid, so maybe talking to Hazel is a bad idea.

Perhaps I'll just bottle it up and store it on the overflowing shelf of my feelings like usual. Since it doesn't involve talking about it, I think that's what I'll do.

Here's to a good session of repression.

-Nico


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Suprise! I know it's been a long time, but that's because I did put this on hiatus. I'd like to focus on my LOTR fic, but I do plan on updating this as I have extra time. With that being said, this won't be updated monthly anymore. On the bright side, here's an update :)**

* * *

There's this matter that I've avoided talking about until now (obviously), but I guess that's just because it's really personal. Okay, there's this guy, and I actually like him. My genuinely liking anyone is quite an accomplishment in itself, but it's a little bit more than just "liking" him if you catch my drift.

I'm stalling. I'm sure you understand, though, because writing down the name of someone you like (more than most people) is a little scary — especially when you know that you have no chance with him. On top of that, there's handling the paranoia of other people finding out now that the secret is on paper (Piper, I'm looking at you).

If she found out, I'd be finished in all the ways a guy could be finished. I already know that she'd be accepting, but I don't trust her not to say anything about it. I also know that Jason isn't bothered by it, but I try not to think about that if I can help it.

I don't want to talk to them, though. And with Jason, I don't want to drag up that old, cringe-y memory of having to spill my guts. It's bad enough when it keeps me up at night.

...

Alright. Here we go. I'm going to write it.

...

I can't do it. My heart is pounding but not because of love. I'm freaking terrified. Why did I think this was a good idea? Aside from the stress of carrying around secrets, why did this even go through my brain as something I should definitely do?

More importantly, why the hell did I use pen today!?

Oh right, it was something along the lines of making my feelings and words permanent today. I knew that I'd panic and erase it all because any feelings that spark glimmers of happiness are shameful.

I'd like to thank society for the stigma surrounding the emotional expression of other guys my age. A special shoutout to the stigma around my genes.

I'm getting off-topic. I'm here to talk about the, um, guy. Not about how messed up society is. So, for starters, his name is Will. He's also about my age and is cuter than Cerberus. Although most things are. And that was a really lame way to describe him.

He just means a lot to me. It'll sound pretty dumb because his dad is Apollo (now that I think about it, Apollo would have no problems with us — if we ever became an us), but Will is like a ray of sunshine in my otherwise dark existence. I just want to be with him. Like, I feel all warm and safe when I see or think about him.

He also heals people, which is pretty, uh, nice to watch. He just gets so determined when it comes to saving lives, especially when death is in the corner of the room. That's actually how I knew I liked him. It was some Camp Half-Blood game and someone got hurt. Out of nowhere swooped this guy (Will) who, I guess, also swept me away. There was this look on his face, and while the injury wasn't serious, he was just so focused.

...

Well, that was pretty gross to read over again. I'm currently debating scratching it out furiously, but not because I'm worried someone will read it. I'm just not creative.

What the hell is wrong with me.

-Nico


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: I managed to get around to another chapter, so I hope you enjoy! Additionally (this is important in the chapter), the River Cocytus is the lamentation river.**

 **Fiction is the Truth: I tried to make that chapter fluffier, so I'm glad to see that you enjoyed it :) Thank you!**

 **Flaming eyeball: I'm glad you're excited! Thank you! I actually couldn't remember how they met, so I just made it up in a way that sounded cute. I don't know if I'd have that as a main chapter, but I could see it as a potential epilogue... Thank you again!**

* * *

My hands are shaking so badly, I can barely write, but this is important. This sort of thing keeps plaguing me, and it's driving me insane.

I had another dream about Tartarus. There's an emphasis on "another," but it should be noted that this is the first dream I've had since I started journaling in case that's important.

I know how crucial demigod dreams are, believe me, but this doesn't have the same feeling as the other dream I mentioned before. At least, I really hope not, because it was pretty horrible. Hopefully, I'm not being delusional, but I don't think it means anything.

I should probably explain what happened because it'll make more sense that way, and maybe writing about it will help clear my head. I mean, I'm feeling significantly less rattled now compared to when I first woke up. It just felt so real, because I remembering thinking (in the dream and right when I woke up) that I was back in that place.

In the dream itself, I was lying on the ground. Rolling my head to the side, I discovered I was lying on the bank of the River Cocytus. The murky river churned along its course, and for a moment, there was this strangely ominous peace. That's when these voices started calling out to me. At first, they were really quiet – so quiet I thought I was imagining it — but the voices eventually grew louder and louder. As the volume grew, so did the anger in the words they were saying. It eventually got to the point where they were screeching at me, but I couldn't escape or move or anything.

Yet, it wasn't like I really wanted to. I just laid by the bank, feeling rather worthless because that's what the voices were saying I was. They kept calling me useless, unwanted, and not good enough. It got to the point where I couldn't tell if I was laying on the bank or drowning in the river.

That's not even the worst part. In the beginning, when the voices were quiet, I couldn't really tell who was speaking, but as they grew louder, I started to recognize some of them. Bianca was the first one I picked out, and she was quickly joined by Percy (who was the loudest and angriest of them all, and unsettling as that was in the dream, I'm physically nauseous now). More and more voices, like Annabeth and Hazel and Jason, surfaced, but when I thought I couldn't take it anymore, the voices all mashed together. At that point, I couldn't really tell what voice went with which person.

That confusion lasted for a really long time, but then it dawned on me. The voice had somehow become my own, and I was screaming at myself.

Even now, I don't know how to feel about that.

After I realized it was my voice, the air around me seemed to dissipate, leaving me there struggling to breathe while the whole of Tartarus converged on me all at once, creating this pressure on my chest that's hard to describe.

After I woke up crying, I threw up a little bit. I sat and kind of stared off into space after that, then finally thought to write something down. I don't know, it just feels so raw and personal? Hearing everyone saying those things, then hearing those voices start to become my own...

I don't know if I'll get any more sleep tonight, but I do feel a little bit better. The nausea is still present, but it's a little bit less intense than before, which is good. Maybe I'll go drink a glass of water or something. I should also change my shirt — it's a little damp from sweat.

You know, I had my initial misgivings about this whole thing, but maybe this "emo journal" isn't so bad.

-Nico


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: Is this an actual update? Yes. Has it been a while? Yes. Is this still on hiatus? Yes.**

 **It's been over a year, and updating has been in the back of my mind for a while. I found some time, and here's the result. To be clear, this fic has not been abandoned, and I do have a plan for how this is eventually going to turn out. It just might take a while for me to get it there. Additionally, the previous chapters have been edited a little bit for grammar and the like. ****With that being said, I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

You know those times when you can just tell that there's something in your head that's causing a lot of problems, but you don't want to deal with it? I've been feeling that today. In fact, I know it's a root to at least one or two of my (many) problems, and while I can feel it crawling in the back of my mind, I still can't face it. Even now, I haven't really written anything related to what it is or how it makes me feel.

...

Okay, now that I'm thinking about it, maybe there was that one time I wrote something about a certain Sun god's son. That kind of calls a lot of attention to this issue of mine. And, now that I'm flipping back to see what I wrote, oh gods, I wrote it in _pen_.

...

My heart is pounding. What was I _thinking_? I have one good day, and suddenly it's "let's reveal all of Nico's secrets — especially the deep and personal ones." To make it all _worse_ , it's gross to read, super obvious, on _paper_ , and _in pen_. Someone else is going to find out. I mean, I take almost irrational pains to hide this stupid journal in case someone (like Piper) ever decides to wander in and start rummaging through my things, but what if that was all pointless?

Oh, and reading what I wrote only reminds me: _someone already knows_. But how could I forget? Granted, he hasn't said anything about it to me, but that doesn't mean he won't to anyone else. I know that he said he would never, but I don't know if I believe him. Well, I really want to, but I also can't afford to get burned by this.

Maybe they already know. Maybe he already told them everything, and now they all know but are just pretending they don't for my sake.

Oh, _gods_. I don't think I can face Annabeth ever again.

Should I burn this, then? Wait, no, because that would definitely attract attention. If there's anything I don't want, it's attention.

...

Wait, Jason probably hasn't said anything. If he had, then Piper or Valdez definitely would have said something by now because neither of them can keep their mouths shut (but for different reasons).

Additionally, I haven't drawn many explicit connections to the first one. The green-eyed monster. I think I'm safe.

Ugh, my head hurts, and my stomach feels all gross, but at least that identity is still secret.

...

So I tried taking a couple of deep breaths (Hazel always tells me to do that whenever I get upset), and that only kind of helped things. I still feel like I'm dying, and as the son of Hades, I feel like I can say that. I'm probably the only person alive (aside from Hazel) who has any real idea about what death is even like.

Scratch that. That green-eyed monster haunting my mind has been there a couple of times and came back alive.

...

I can't do this. I can't write anything anymore. I'm revealing too much, and I think that's because I'm really tired and a little overwhelmed by whatever just happened.

I'm just going to go to bed and decide what to do about this whole thing later. Maybe I'll burn this journal (because that really seems like an incredibly attractive idea), or maybe I'll tear out all of the pages and send the whole thing to the depths of hell. That way, I would be burying it like I bury the rest of my feelings.

I see no problems with either plan.

This might be it, then. Unless I decide that baring my soul to the rest of the world is still a good idea, which is unlikely at this point.

-Nico


End file.
